


Hero

by chellerrific



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellerrific/pseuds/chellerrific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darkness and gloom aren’t really her style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just me trying to work through some charactery things.

Rangiku stretches her arms over head. She’s been dreaming again, the same dream she always has lately. His face, his smile, his back as he walks away. That’s the side of him she’ll always know best, isn’t it?

There’s a knock at the door, and when she acknowledges it, the head that pokes into the room belongs to Nanao. That’s right, the two of them decided to take Momo out for dinner, drinks, and company tonight. Good. She could use it as much as Momo.

Rangiku allows—forces—her face to break into a broad smile, hoping the light of it will chase away the shadows at the corners of her mind. “Oh, hey there! I didn’t even realize I’d dozed off.”

“It’s even less believable when you say it than when my captain does,” Nanao teases, some of her hard edges softened by being off-duty.

Rangiku gets to her feet, doing a few more light stretches to ease non-existent cramps, and follows Nanao out of the office. She has recovered from the Winter War by now, all signs of her evisceration in that final battle gone. Sometimes she still feels a dull ache, and it takes her a moment to realize it’s only her heart.

Momo looks better, too, but Rangiku knows she must feel aches in the same places. They—not just her and Momo, but all the officers—have been putting things behind them as best as they can, taking solace in each other’s company and shared pain.

“Shared pain”—she forgets who used the phrase (Unohana, or perhaps Komamura; it’s got that edge of earnestness those two would be likely to evoke), but it feels inadequate to her even now. They are islands, drifting individually on their own seas of torment.

Rangiku orders “sake, and lots of it”—her favorite kind. She’ll coax Nanao and Momo into having some as well, but they’re both lightweights and so she’ll have to try to moderate herself. She’s always been a drinker, and her intake really hasn’t changed much since everything happened. She knows that’s true because her friends would have noticed, and when she puts in her order there are only looks of resigned affection on their faces, not concern. So that’s all right.

“Captain Hitsugaya will have my head if you’re hungover tomorrow,” Nanao says. “For some reason he expects me to be the responsible one, even though you're older.”

“It’s your own fault for always taking on that role voluntarily,” Rangiku points out. The bottle’s arrived and so she happily helps herself, pouring for her two companions as well. “If you were a flake like me, that’s all anyone would expect of you.”

“There’s a flaw in your argument, Rangiku,” Momo puts in. “You’re not really a flake at all.”

“Shush!” Rangiku looks around, as if afraid someone might have heard. “That’s a secret, you know?”

Momo giggles into her hand and takes a sip of her drink, shuddering at the taste.

Rangiku allows herself to feel pride at being responsible for that particular smile. Momo isn’t as generous with them as she once was, and her friends treat them as precious these days.

“Ah, I’m so glad today is over,” Nanao says, briefly removing her glasses to rub her eyes. “I had so much to do!”

“Oh, come on, Nanao, don’t talk about work,” Rangiku moans.

“Sorry,” she says with a smile, but it’s small and sheepish. “Shut up and drink your sake, Nanao.”

Rangiku nudges her with an elbow. “That’s not what I said. We recognize the value of your role as the group’s wet blanket, don’t we, Momo?”

“Rangiku!” Momo huffs, her instinct to rise to the defense of anyone but herself undulled.

Rangiku laughs, a little too loudly, and wonders if the sake has somehow already gone to her head. “It’s not an insult, just a description. The flake, the wet blanket, and the…” She trails off, at a loss. “Nope, it’s no good, I can’t do it; it’s too much like teasing a puppy. Oh! Maybe that’s your role: the puppy.”

Momo pouts.

Rangiku pours herself another drink and lets her mind wander as Nanao brings up some book or other she and Momo have both read. She wonders if this damage will be permanent, if these shadows will always haunt them despite their best efforts. She doesn’t like this heavy feeling weighing them down. Things are best when they’re light, ebullient, unfettered. Lately she seems only to feel the opposite, chained to the memory of a man she’s not sure she ever really knew.

She thinks she understands what Momo feels, just a little bit. They’re different, their situations, but betrayal, loss, those are common themes. Momo may be mourning for something that never truly was, but loss is loss, and can Rangiku really be sure what she’s doing is any different?

She wishes he were here to ask.

She wishes he were here.

“We should do this again tomorrow, if you don’t already have plans,” she suggests abruptly, grateful there’s been another break in the conversation so she can jump in like that. “Maybe invite some of the others along.”

“Pace yourself, Rangiku,” Nanao says. “Not all of us are capable of partying every night like you are.”

Rangiku laughs, because that’s certainly true. “The day after tomorrow, then,” she concedes. “And I promise to go easy on the sake. Then, not now.” She takes another long drink.

“I like the idea of a party,” Momo says. “A little informal one. Who else should we invite? Izuru and Renji, of course.”

“Shuhei,” adds Rangiku. It’s already starting to seem like she may not be able to keep that promise.

“Nemu,” says Nanao. “I think she likes to be invited, though it’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“Toshiro?” Momo suggests.

“Excuse you,” says Nanao, slapping her palm onto the tabletop. “The role of wet blanket has already been filled here.”

All three of them laugh at that, and for a moment Rangiku feels beautifully, wonderfully free.

“I don’t think he’d want to come,” Rangiku says pragmatically once she has her breath back. “He gets enough of me during the day.”

Momo and Nanao exchange wry glances. For all their superficial antagonism, it’s clear to everyone with any sense that the captain and lieutenant of the Tenth Division are incredibly close.

Rangiku waves a hand at both of them. “We’ll do something else with him soon.”

“Why is it that when you say ‘do something else with him,’ I get this mental image of Toshiro forced into a dress and make-up?” Momo says.

“Because that’s what I meant, of course.” Rangiku winks. “It’s his own fault for thinking such a thing would be demeaning. I don’t feel demeaned when I wear a dress and make-up. I’m only trying to broaden his horizons.”

“Just make sure you get pictures. They’d be great if we decided to do another photo book,” Nanao puts in.

“Ever the mind for business. You never change,” Rangiku says with a sigh.

“I like that about you,” Momo adds quickly. “You’re reliable. You’re a rock, Nanao.”

What Nanao makes of these assessments, she doesn’t say, only takes a very small sip of her drink.

No, Nanao wasn’t affected by the war the way the others were, having been left behind to oversee the Seireitei as she was. But Rangiku has often felt that had to be its own personal hell. Nanao won’t say, having always been one to play her cards close to her vest. Only she knows if being told she was more valuable for her administrative skills than combat ability felt like an insult or a compliment. Rangiku also wonders how much of that decision was pragmatism and how much was Kyoraku, but she sees the sense in keeping that to herself.

Seeing the carnage and hopelessness of the battle first-hand had been terrible, but she’s been the one left behind and wondering far too many times to think that’s an easy alternative.

Good intentions only get anyone so far. Pushing someone aside for their own sake is still pushing them aside.

Rangiku takes another drink and allows a small smile in spite of her dark thoughts as she listens to her friends. She wants to soak this night in, building more good memories until there’s no room left for sadness or regret. She’s felt far too much of those lately.

_He did it for you_ , something inside her insists, like that’s supposed to make it any better. Intentions can’t fill the hole in her life where he's supposed to be.

No, Gin was no hero, not to her or anyone else. But she loved him, and that should have been enough.


End file.
